My silence benefits no one but my hungry insecurities which fail to rest from roaring whispers of self doubt and “girl! I told you so”.
My heart has taken a lot of blows in one month alone
It’s too heavy to carry
I just pounce around like I’m unaffected
convincing myself nothing is wrong
I wake up and all I can think is
“I fasted- my faith should be stronger than ever…
Things of the flesh will not affect me.”
So I don’t bother unpacking my tears
And I don’t allow myself to feel the tides brush up on cheeks.
But there’s always that one moment where you choke, and oxygen becomes hard to swallow
That moment of release feels so so sweet
Where all facial fluids release,
where exhaling occurs after every short 5-8 inhales
And everything about crying feels so damn good…
You don’t want to stop –
Just like the bad things don’t.
My heart is heavy
and I don’t want to wake
up along side the sun…
I want my body to be buried beneath many moons-
until I’m able to find my smile again.
It hurts everywhere.
The weight pressing on my chest isn’t anxiety,
it’s my soul feeling trapped.
You poured your heart out to me on a pillow and then we started fucking,
I swiftly slid it under me,
Because I’d rather have it draped in bodily fluids than the smell of your broken heart.
you’re not a bad person for the way you kill your sadness…
Each pill dissolving on your tongue, the way you wished your pain would.
But pain is not like people,
you can’t just talk it away,
And people aren’t simple,
you cannot force them to stay.
99 pills at once,
Like problems shoved down your throat.
Difficult to swallow.
Difficult to breathe.
life isn’t easy.
Death is a breeze.
your living pain is unbearable,
And you can’t wait to leave.
Coping, are your eyes,
Struggling to stay awake.
Starved is your heart,
Unable to eat joy.
Confused is your mind,
How could misery be so happy, when it always has you in mind.
No suicide note.
No one deserves to know how frozen their coldness left you.
How their ghostly words
that escaped their tongue
now haunt you-
Like you will now haunt them.
You’ve managed to stop the world from spinning.
Slowly floating away.
Never felt anything so great.
Embracing you body for the fight, maybe now, it too, will understand the scars you placed above every vain.
It too, will fully feel the pain you’ve been exposed to.
You hoping nothing goes wrong, because it’s way too right.
So light as a feather,
is this moment.
Unable to feel the ground.
You feel rest,
Drowning in peace.
As your troubled soul escapes from you
That no one is nearby to save you.
Happiness like this doesn’t last
It turns into pain of the past.
you clinch every single part of you.
With your last breath
His eyes are piercing, so focused. He doesn’t blink. He looks into the depths of your soul as if he knows every little secret. It’s almost as though he sees right through you. He sees the way you vacillate between your choices, the way you pretend to be so damn sure of yourself while toting your cute work satchel, walking up the stairs to your cubicle in your very sensible heels. Your fake-it-til-you-make-it game is strong, but he pokes holes through your facade.
He has twenty years on you. While he lets you think you’re making all of the rules and setting the pace of this unfolding game you’re playing with him through flirty emails and work lunches that hint at something more, the truth is, he has you figured out. As frustrating as this is, to constantly be one step behind a man who appears to consistently make power plays, it’s thrilling. Because each time you attempt to outsmart him, you wonder what it would feel like to surrender. You’re curious. You want to know what would happen if you suspended all logic and let him call the shots. How would it feel to let him show you tonight what it will take men your age years to master? Because the truth is, deep down inside, not only do you want him, you want to be him. You watch the way he wields his power in his corner office on the floor above you and wonder, “What does it feel like to be so confident, so sure?”
You look at those delicate flecks of gray in his beard, betraying his very youthful eyes and smile, and picture him doing very adult and very naughty things to you. The rational, safe girl you’ve always been is slowly being eclipsed by the daring woman you think you want to become.
And then you remember: his daughter could practically be your sister, as you’re just a mere nine years apart in age. And even though he claims his relationship with his wife is strained, he is still very married, albeit unhappily. If you wanted something more (and you can already tell you would – those hands indicate that this man has all of the right weaponry), you could not have it. Because the fact of the matter is, affairs are ugly, divorces are messy, and eventually, you’ll get tired of only being able to call and text him during designated hours. There would be no picking up takeout, enjoying his company without restrictions, and lazily waking up to each other in the morning. He made his choices, he made his commitments, well before you were even old enough to legally drink.
So here you are, stopping this budding attraction before it goes too far, because you know that in the end, it’s you, the potential young mistress, who will lose. And while this small remnant of power is satisfying, the fantasy is always more compelling.
Originally posted on From A Wildflower
I consciously placed a sale tag on a non-discountable good.
The one timeless peice,
People would merely walk in and admire,
Was on sale.
But based on pure frustration,
I wanted it to go.
Those who walked in
To purely admire it,
Were in disbelief
Those who had never seen it before, knew it was a steal.
Commotion at the door.
All the way to the till
They, all of a sudden forgot I had value
For that moment
I was worth that 50% I had placed on me.
Shocked, that even those that knew me
Were willing to walk all over me.
I remembered who I was.
My true value
I placed me back to where I belonged
They weren’t happy
They might not even view me for a very long time.
But I’m happy.
I’m happy I got myself back
I then began to stitch myself together
and began to acknowledge my worth.
Every strand of hair
I realised why I don’t go flying off the shelves like those around me.
I was not made in a sweat shop.
Every part of me was hand crafted.
Features of my mother and father merged together on face.
Although they are no longer together.
I am both of them.
But in their bothness,
I am me.
A timeless peice.
Never willing to put myself on sale again.